They call it the lake of seven colours. Looking a lot like its salty neighbour, the Caribbean Sea, Laguna Bacalar is a freshwater lake of clear blue water over a white sand bottom. The blueness isn’t uniform, however: at times subtle, and at other times sharp changes in tone indicate a varied depth.

 The Yucatan Peninsula is a dry place: neither rivers nor lakes lie on the surface, but instead travel underground. This is because the bedrock here is all limestone, the deposits of an ancient seabed. Limestone is easily dissolved by rain and eroded by flowing water and the seasonal rains have carved their way beneath the surface in a network of caves and submerged channels. All of this water eventually flows to the sea, and so as it passes through lower layers of bedrock, it re-emerges as a series of lakes, near sea level. The largest of these is Laguna Bacalar, just a few miles from Chetumal Bay.

The entire lake is about 50 km (30 miles) long, north to south. Never more than a km (about a half mile) in width, it runs parallel to the fault lines in the limestone bedrock. Standing on my balcony at the quirky and charming Hotel Laguna Bacalar in the early morning light, I can only see a short section of the water. The cool night air has shrouded the lake in mist. So unlike the sea, the lake in the early morning is mirror-flat. Small flocks of snowy egrets pass by on their way to rich feeding grounds. A glossy ibis cackles shrewdly in the dense foliage near the water’s edge. A neotropical cormorant swims and dives around the dock, chasing the abundant small fish that make up its diet. It is morning, and the lake is just waking up.

A Day Trip

It is late morning, and the breeze has stirred up the lake to a light chop. We are heading south, towards the lake’s source, escorted by a flock of violet-green swallows, their iridescent bodies shining in the morning light. To the west, the shore slopes upwards from the water. It is a mixture of dry forest and waterfront properties. Wealthy Mexicans and foreigners have built their humble palaces along this shore, though there is still plenty of wild forest between groomed gardens. The shoreline is irregular, often forming rounded bays of deep blue. These are cenotes, collapsed caverns, submerged beneath the surface of the lake. The eastern shore is low and swampy. Covered mostly in stunted mangroves, it is wild and undeveloped: part of a large protected area.

We are riding in a pontoon boat, a stable and comfortable platform for such a cruise. Some sit in the sun, others in the shade of a partial canopy. The lake is getting narrower and we pass the massive ruins of a resort that never quite got going before its owner, a former state governor, was jailed on drug trafficking charges. The ruins stand majestically and eerily through the trees, slowly being swallowed by the inevitability of the tropical forest.

The lake narrows to a river, and we see the beginnings of a current. The shore takes on a strange shape. It appears to be growing outwards at the surface, in billowing stone formations. These are extremely rare rock formations called microbialites. The oldest known fossils are a type of microbialite called stromatolites, dating back almost three and a half billion years. They are formed by cyanobacteria (blue-green algae), which consume carbon dioxide during photosynthesis, and cause dissolved calcium to precipitate around them as a thin layer of limestone. Thus the rock grows continuously outwards into the water, making this pillowy shoreline. There are only a handful of modern microbialites to be found anywhere in the world, and they are rarer still in fresh water, which makes this a special place indeed. The Laguna Bacalar Microbialite Formation is nearly ten kilometres (6 miles) long making it also the world’s largest.

As we pass into the narrows, the current gets stronger. We see small fish darting among the reeds and jumping out of the water in front of the boat. The bottom is rocky and irregular with overhanging banks, and a straight channel, which splits near the downstream end. We motor through and Giovanni, our boat captain, turns the big rig around. The shoreline is fragile and so he holds a mangrove tree while we gear up and slip into the water.

Once we are all in, we drift downstream, masks in the water. The bottom and banks have a rough-looking texture. A closer look reveals that it is composed entirely of reefs of tiny freshwater mussels, imbedded in the limestone. Their shells are open as they filter the water streaming past them. And we stream past them, pulled along by the current, past deep hollows and beds of reeds, and propeller scars marking prior passages by less skilled boatmen.

In no time at all we are through the rapids and watch as Giovanni deftly manoeuvres the wide pontoon boat through the rapids and swings around to pick us up. Now we are heading back up the rapids to get to our picnic site, for lunch and a tour of the local flora, before we head back to our hotel (with one more swim through the rapids, of course). A great day on an unique and very interesting lake.

Watch Shark Reef | Full Program on PBS. See more from Saving the Ocean.

West Indian Manatee

Manatees are gentle giants that live their lives in the water, even though they are mammals. They are considered very gentle, eat plants only, have no natural enemies in the areas they call home, and can live up to 60 years. Growing up to 15 feet in size, the females are larger than the males and can weigh up to 3000 pounds, though typically they will be 10 feet and 1500 pounds. It is believed the manatees evolved from the same family as elephants, a claim that is easy to understand when you see these sea creatures. Highly adaptable to salt in the water, manatees can live in salt and fresh water, as well as estuaries and brackish water. However, dips below 20 degrees Celsius for water temperature can cause the manatees’ digestive system to shut down, which can lead to death. The manatees were once called mermaids by lonely European travelers who obviously had been out to sea for a long time and forgot what a beautiful woman looked like. Eventually, the more appropriate name  “sea cow” came to replace “mermaid”. While water traffic has been a problem for the manatees, Belize has taken steps through the years to ensure a safe environment for these gentle giants to thrive.  Popular areas to spot these gentle giants are in the Village of Gale’s point, near Dangriga, as well as the Swallow Caye Marine reserve, which can be accessed from Caye Caulker or Ambergris Caye.

Whale Sharks

The whale shark is not a whale, thus not a mammal, but it is the largest fish in the world, and one of the largest animals compared to any other found on land or in the sea. The largest whale shark on record was 40’7″ with a mouth that spanned 4.5 feet wide. Another gentle giant of the ocean, the whale shark is naturally curious and will calmly swim right alongside a fishing boat, almost begging for someone to reach over and pet it. The whale shark feeds by ingesting large amounts of water and filtering out plankton and other organisms. Whale sharks congregate in Belize during the spring months when their food supply of snappers are spawning in the area. This usually takes place around the full moon, in April and May, which is a very popular time to visit Gladden Spit, near Placencia in the southern part of Belize. Whale sharks are generally night feeders, so that can pose a bit of a challenge for diving with them, but they can be found feeding during daylight hours, as well.  Their gentle nature and calm demeanor makes them a popular ocean giant for scuba divers and snorkelers to swim along with.

Manta Ray

With the manta ray, the trilogy of “gentle giants of the ocean” has come full circle. The manta ray looks like a gigantic bird flying through the ocean, with a wingspan of up to 20 feet and a body that can weigh up to 3000 pounds. Once called the devil fish due to its imposing size and horn-like structures around its head, the manta ray is now known to be one of the calmest and most gentle creatures in the oceans. The manta ray opens its mouth wide and filters plankton, small fish and other tiny organisms from the water for food. Manta rays have no set mating season and give birth two 2 or 3 live pups, each weighing up to 25 pounds. The manta ray have little to concern themselves with respects to natural predators, and fishermen leave them alone due to a lack of commercial value. An awesome sight to behold is seeing one of these giants leap out of the water as high as 15 feet into the air, but don’t be beneath them when they come back down!

Scribbled Filefish

The Scribbled Filefish likes to live on its own, except when it comes to mating season, when a single male will have a handful of females hanging around. Looking like it could be part of a science fiction movie or a discotheque decoration, the Scribbled Filefish has bright blue lines and dots accenting its body. Also known as “foolfish”, “leatherjackets” and “shingles”, the Scribbled Filefish are a close relative of trunkfish, triggerfish and pufferfish. Spiked with defenses that are well adapted for keeping predators away, a double blade knife on its tail and a series of spines that can be erected to make a defensive spear and give the illusion of the fish being larger than it otherwise is all help in keeping this fish safe from hungry predators. The rough surface of the Scribbled Filefish’s skin made it a common wooden boat finishing component at one time in history, as well as an abrasive surface that fishermen could use to light matches.

Sea Turtles

There are three common sea turtles that tourists to Belize will be able to watch and swim with. These common sea turtles are the green turtle, the hawksbill and the loggerhead turtle. Sea turtles congregate around Belize due to the ideal feeding and nesting conditions. Being they need soft sandy beaches to lay their eggs and an ocean nearby for when the eggs hatch. If the eggs were laid in the water, the baby turtles would actually drown, so the female needs to make a difficult crawl up the beach to an area above the waterline where she digs a hole and deposits her eggs. There are many natural predators to the baby turtles and the developing eggs, from dogs to lizards to raccoons and skunks. With added problems like land development encroaching on turtle egg laying beaches, Belize has taken great strides with conservation and sanctuaries to assure these wonderful animals a safe place to lay their eggs. The hawksbill turtle fortunate enough to reach maturity can weigh up to 200 pounds. The loggerhead adult can weigh close to 450 pounds. A visit to Belize is not complete without seeing, or preferably swimming, with these wonderful sea turtles.

What would a tropical vacation be without the rustle and sway of the leaves of the mighty yet humble coconut tree?  It is hard to imagine a Caribbean beach without them.  And yet, like a fellow traveller, the ubiquitous coconut palm is not a native to these shores. Originally from the coasts of Africa and the Indian Ocean, the coconut palm was introduced to the Caribbean by early settlers. Being supremely well-adapted to a tropical maritime coast, it has spread throughout the shores of the Caribbean and tropical America.

This is a mixed blessing. The blessing is to us, as the coconut is a rich resource of food, fuel and material for shelter. The nut is full of water, and rich in nutrients, especially oils. The nut and its husk  provide excellent fuel for cooking and warmth. The shell of the nut is extremely hard and can be made into a variety of useful items from bowls to bras (festive use only), to jewellery and various forms of artwork. The leaves can be woven into hats, or employed to thatch roofs and walls. Even the flower stalk is used to make a broom to sweep the yard, or, sometimes, to discipline children.

Coconut trees are an invasive, climax species, however, and once established on an island they start to take over.  Dispersal is by water. The tree grows outward as well as upward, so the nuts will fall away from the trunk. If the tree is on the beach, some of the nuts will be washed out to sea where they may be carried long distances, to land on a distant shore. High tides and winds will push the nut above the high water where, as soon as it soaks up some rain, it will germinate. The tree grows quickly, shading out nearby trees and dropping its gigantic leaves (each frond is a single leaf) to cover the ground beneath it. If the tree is growing towards the forest, its leaves will smother the seedlings of other plants, or prevent their seeds from reaching the ground to germinate. The coconut, having a huge seed with plenty of stored food, can grow up through this tangled mat of leaf-fall, out-competing all others. In this way the coconut will gradually invade and choke out the native littoral forest.

At Half Moon Caye, on Lighthouse Reef, the littoral forest is under the protection and stewardship of the Belize Audubon Society. Here they are beginning to manage the forest by removing coconut trees that have been gradually invading and taking it over. Even there though, the tree is important. In the greater part of the island there is no littoral forest. Here coconut trees provide much-needed shade and stabilize the soil. Along the shore, a high wall of coconut trees helps protect the littoral forest from the winds of hurricanes and tropical storms. The key is to remove the trees which are invading, leaving a narrow buffer zone for the forest to grow into, and to keep those trees which cushion the forest against the terrible forces of storm winds.

One final word to the wise: before you linger too long in the shade of the coconut trees, look up. That is a heavy nut and the trees are tall.

The day is the perfect image of a tropical Caribbean vacation: warm, sunny, and with a light breeze from the northeast. We have just sailed our kayaks to Twin Cays, a mangrove cay split down the middle by a long-forgotten storm. We enter the split, with a low wall of mangrove trees on either side. There is no sign of land: the trees are standing on a jungle of prop roots over shallow water. At the edge of the trees, the bottom drops to a depth of 3m (10ft).

We anchor the lead kayak and tie the others in a line. Soon we are in the water with masks and fins on and we are exploring the edge of the mangroves. Roots dangle off the edge of the drop-off. They are covered in marine growth: sponges in bright orange and dull grey, thin oysters, and various algae dangle and wave in the slight current. Tiny fish and shrimps hide among the roots as well. This is important habitat for the juveniles of many species.

I float, perfectly still, staring into the roots. The longer I remain, the more I see. A tiny arrow crab, with impossibly long legs, is picking at a root. A sharp-nosed puffer, his tail curled to one side, is hiding in some sargassoweed. And slowly it comes into focus: a tiny, dark-brown face is peering at me from behind a root. It is a seahorse, and it is clearly hiding from me. I reach behind it and gently scoop it in my hand, calling the others over to see it. It wraps its tail around my finger, hiding in my loosely cupped hands. Everyone comes over and has a look, and it looks at everyone too. I replace the little fish and move on.

There is a most unusual fish that is sometimes found in mangrove channels. It has a long thin snout, a broad body, and its fins are articulated such that the pelvic fins are on the sides of its body and they face forward, like the feet of a land animal. On these feet it walks along the bottom. Well-camouflaged, the short-nosed batfish lies perfectly still on the bottom. You can swim down and touch it: it merely takes a couple of steps and returns to its zen-like stillness.

Here is an image of a baby batfish in a few inches of water:

Mangroves are of major ecological importance in tropical waters. By their strong trunks and extensive system of prop roots they stabilize shorelines and by trapping sediment they expand shorelines and  turn sandbars into new islands. Their roots provide essential habitat for the juveniles of many species of fish, shrimp and other marine life. And the leaf-matter that they drop adds nutrients to an environment that is typically nutrient-poor and low in productivity. In fact, an acre of red mangrove contributes up to three tons of organic carbon per year to the soil and surrounding waters. Next to seagrass beds, mangrove shores are the most important contributor of organic carbon to the tropical marine environment. And we got to see this unique and highly productive ecosystem up close.

Now for the sail and paddle back to camp, and a chance to open the field guides and put some names to what we saw.

The Barrier Reef along the Yucatan Coast is not a continuous wall, but rather runs like an irregularly dotted line parallel to the coast. In one spot, near Xcalak, a sleepy fishing village near the border with Belize, there is a short section of secondary reef, parallel to the main reef, about fifty to a hundred metres further off-shore. A gap in the main reef allows us to swim into the space between these two reef sections, where we can be on the outside of the main reef, and yet are reasonably sheltered from the Caribbean swells that pound the reef day and night.

We are paddling our sea kayaks on a day trip from Mahahual. Anchoring behind the reef, we don our snorkel gear and swim through a gap in the reef. This gap is about two metres (6 ft.) deep and the same width, so we go single file. As we cross the reef the bottom drops straight down to a sandy floor at a depth of about 15 m (50 ft.). The wall itself is a jumbled pile of huge and beautiful corals and sponges. Cruising along the edge of the wall are several spotted eagle rays, whose graceful flight is a joy to watch. As we watch the eagle rays, we notice that there are big schools of fish here. Tarpon mill around near the bottom, their shiny bodies glimmering as they move in circles.  We spot a school of about a hundred big-eye jacks, hanging out near the surface. And another school of dog snappers hovers in the quiet waters of mid-depth. I don’t recall ever seeing such an assortment of truly big fish all in one place. And still the eagle rays glide, back and forth, along the wall and over the bottom. No aquarium can match such a sight as this.

Belize is a sanctuary for over 540 bird species and a popular destination for bird-watchers from all over the world. It is possible to see as many as 400 different birds on a single guided bird-watching tour through the beautiful land of Belize. Due to the dedication and hard work of many people throughout the years, Belize has managed to become a premier destination for those who love birds and want to see the colors and interactions of these fine creatures in their natural habitat. Protected as part of Belize’s heritage, conservation efforts have preserved the land, area and birds themselves. The Belize National Parks System Act (1981) initiated the establishment of protected areas that have long been maintained for the preservation of the birds, wildlife, land, and heritage. From colorful parrots to tiny hummingbirds, Belize has a diversity in birds that is unique from anywhere else in the world, and below you will find some info on a handful of the birds you can expect to see while visiting Belize.

Frigate Bird

Frigate birds are characterized by their black feathers and forked tail. The females tend to have a white belly, otherwise their feathers are black. The males have a bright red throat pouch called a gular sac) that puffs out when filled with air during the mating season. Females have white throats, complementing their white bellies. The frigate bird wingspan can be up to seven feet across, over twice the size of their bodies. Due to this large wing to body size ratio, frigate birds cannot take off like other birds and can barely walk. What they can do is float around on wind streams for a week at a time, only landing to roost or mate. Frigate birds take food that comes close to the water surface or steal it from other birds. This type of feeding is known as “kleptoparasitic”.

Red Footed Booby

Red Footed Booby birds can be found nesting in the Orange-flowered Ziricote thicket in the western end of the Half Moon Caye. Sharing the area with frigate birds, the squawking and screeching can be quite the noisy experience, but the parenting birds are so busy with their young, they hardly notice it when people get up close. The Red Footed Booby birds live on the caye starting from mid-December and leave in August, with about 4000 breeding birds calling the caye home during this time. The chicks hatch in March, then a few months are spent growing and then it’s time to take care of themselves, feeding on fish and flying about enjoying the beauty of Belize.

Osprey

If you look up high in the trees of Belize, you may see the watchful eyes of the osprey looking out for a meal. With a swoop from the tree tops, the osprey can dive deep into the water to grab a fish below the surface. Effective fishers with sharp talons and beak, osprey are also known as fish hawks, though they on rare occasion will catch and eat rodents and other small mammals, amphibians, birds, and even small lizards. This large bird of prey has a wing span of up to 6 feet in length, with a body about 2 feet long. Ospreys make the largest nests of any North American bird, with the nests sometimes being as large as 6 feet high.

Wood Stork

The wood stork is a large bird, some almost 4 feet tall, with a wingspan close to 7 feet in length. These beautiful birds are white with a bald head, and can be found wading in water up to their chest as they forage for food. Wood storks have a unique way of catching food, in that they open their bills in the water and wait for a fish to swim by, at which point they snap their bill shut at a reaction speed faster than most any other vertebrate. When in breeding season, a pair of adult wood storks and their chicks can feed on as much as 400 pounds of fish. Wood storks are social animals, and will sometimes several pairs will nest in a single tree.

Jabiru Stork

The name of the Jabiru stork means “swollen neck”, and when you see the black and red area at the base of the neck, you will understand how it got its name. The male and female look similar but the male is larger, something that is noticeable when paired. It has a big black bill that is slightly upturned. It is the tallest flying bird of the area. With a body of about 4-5 feet in size and a large wingspan that can reach 7 feet, the Jabiru stork looks clumsy on land but is a graceful and strong flier. The Jabiru is a social animal and lives in near rivers and ponds, eating fish, mollusks, amphibians, and even the odd reptiles, bird eggs and small mammals. It has also been known to eat fresh carrion and dead fish. With a lifespan that can reach 36 years, pairs of Jabiru Stork may only breed every other year, as raising chicks takes a few months.

Roseate Spoonbills

It is easy to see how the Roseate Spoonbill got its name: it has a distinctly spoon-shaped bill. With its pink legs, wings and fringe, white head and chest, the Roseate Spoonbill is a very unique looking bird. Its wingspan can reach 4 1/2 feet, and it stands about 2 -3 feet tall. The male and female have the same colorings, but the male is slightly larger than the female and even has a slightly larger bill. Roseate Spoonbills are social and live amongst many other type of birds. It feeds by sweeping its spoon-bill side to side in water, catching fish, mollusks, insects, and snails in its touch-sensitive bill. Like the famous pink flamingo, the Roseate Spoonbill’s coloring comes from the food it eats, namely the algae diet of crustaceans it feeds upon.

It is a breezy day. The kayaks bounce and roll through the waves as we sail down to Long Caye on an all-day excursion. That’s right, I did say “sail”. These double kayaks have been specially modified to take a simple sailing rig and now we are driving along with the wind.

Sailing is a pretty simple matter with these rigs: you just hold onto a rope which controls the sail, lean into the wind, and don’t forget to steer. That is if you are in the back seat, where you are called “Skipper”. In the front seat, “Gilligan’s” job is to watch out for patch reefs, help with the leaning as necessary, and pull out the paddle once in a while if a little extra push is needed to get around the hazards. Mostly it’s a lazy ride across four miles of gorgeous water, in every shade of green and blue.

After a brief sailing lesson we head off the beach. The wind seems light and we get a feel for the sailing pretty quickly. We dodge easily around a maze of patch reefs, and, as we get farther from the shelter of the island, the breeze quickens, the sail fills and we are pulled along briskly. The kayak dances through a light chop, and this sailing excursion is easy and just swift enough to be exciting.

A little more than halfway across, however, the nature of the water changes a little. No longer sheltered from the big waves by the island and reefs, the sea gets a little choppier. Even these waves are nothing like the swells rolling in the open sea, but the bigger ones are getting to be over a foot high. They lift the boat and surge us forward. The trick is to stay facing straight downwind, so that if a wave lifts the rudder out of the water, it won’t have time to turn us sideways to the waves and dump us in the water. We do our best, and a few times a big wave catches the boat just right, and we surf the wave at breath-taking speed. This goes on for a while, but as the water gets shallower, the size of the waves diminishes, and we are no longer surfing, but still sailing merrily.

Most of the kayaks make it to the beach unscathed, but we hear the story of one boat that flipped over. As they retell the story, they both agree that they are glad we did our wet exit exercises the day we arrived. Having flipped intentionally on that exercise, they knew what it would be like to go over, and so were much less nervous while sailing. And they also told of how quickly the support boat was alongside, helping them out. In no time they were back in their boat, bailed out and sailing again. This time they made it all the way to the beach without another unscheduled swim.

Now for a snorkel and some lunch before our next challenge: paddling back to Half Moon Caye.

Oh, here is a short video showing kayak sailing, too….

The boat ride to Lighthouse Reef is an adventure in itself, but the day is not over yet. After our tour of the camp, a safety talk, and getting our luggage settled in our cabana tents, we hear the blowing of the conch-shell. This is our call to gather, and in this case we are gathering for our introduction to paddling, and to getting wet. As in Wet Exit.

 When your kayak tips over, you have two choices: either roll it back up, or get out. Since the Eskimo Roll is an advanced manoeuvre, and very difficult to execute in a double kayak even by skilled paddlers, the wet exit is the more likely choice. So we have to learn how to do it. And what better place to develop your wet exit skills than the tropical waters of Belize?

 The guides take us through it step by step, demonstrating the various re-entry techniques. They make it look easy and some of us have our doubts. Hanging upside-down in a kayak sounds about as sensible as jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. But when it’s our turn, we have a guide right there to calm our nerves, to guide us and assure us. So over we go…

Once your head emerges from the water, and you realize how quickly the actual exit took, you feel kind of silly for being nervous. But you are not back in the kayak yet. First you find your paddle, your boat, your partner. And then you scan around for floating objects that might have fallen out of your boat. Once all is gathered then you work together to right the boat. Then there is the bailing. Once the boat is sufficiently bailed, we get on opposite sides of the boat.

 All of this activity is tiring, especially if the sea is wavy. Fortunately the Caribbean Sea is warm and so we have no reason to rush through this. My partner, being much lighter than me, will stabilize the boat while I climb in. My technique is not as smooth as the guide’s was, but I manage to scramble in and get settled. So now I hold the boat steady with my weight, and my paddle in the water, while my partner climbs aboard. Somehow she makes it look easy. And there we are, back in our boats as if nothing happened, except of course we are soaking wet, and still have a little water to bail out. But the feeling of relief, and of renewed confidence stokes our desire to do some serious paddling. And in a couple of days, when we sail our kayaks to Long Caye, the idea of a capsize shrinks from a Titanic disaster, to that of an unscheduled swim. And that makes the sail a lot more fun.